Valoree no longer has
to masquerade as her murdered brother and scourge the oceans as Captain
Red. She no longer has to command his pirate band in a quest to regain
his birthright. She has been named heir to Ainsley Castle. But no
executor would ever hand over the estate to an unmarried pirate wench
and her infamous crew—no matter to whom she’d been born. And the will
distinctly states that in order to inherit, Valoree must be married to a
nobleman . . . and pregnant.

Upon learning that, the virgin
captain is ready to return to the seas—but her crew has other ideas— and
for those rascally cusses she would do anything. If they could find a
way to put on her a sweet face that would fool the ton, she would handle
the rest, even with a drunken prostitute as an “aunt” and her merry
cutthroat crew as “servants.” But to herself she swears one thing: she
will only marry a man who fires her blood, a man who is not afraid of a .
. . Lady Pirate

LYNSAY
SANDS is the nationally bestselling author of the Argeneau/Rogue
Hunter vampire series, as well as numerous historicals and
anthologies. She’s been writing stories since grade school and
considers herself incredibly lucky to be able to make a career out of
it. Her hope is that readers can get away from their everyday stress
through her stories, and if there’s
occasional uncontrollable fits of laughter, that’s just a big
bonus.

The water was flat as a looking glass,
capturing the moonlight and stars that twinkled down from above and
reflecting just enough light that the ship gliding ahead of them
appeared black and ghostlike in the darkness.

From her position at the front of the
small dugout canoe in which she rode, Valoree motioned, and the men
at the oars immediately slowed their rowing. At another signal, the
sailors raised their oars out of the water, and the craft slid
silently up beside the larger craft.

Immediately those on the left side of
the canoe with drew hooks on long ropes and sent them whistling
through the air to catch on the rail above. For a moment they waited,
staring breathlessly up the side of the large galleon and holding the
lines, allowing their craft to be dragged along by the larger ship’s
momentum. At last, when a hue and cry failed to arise, all eyes
slowly returned to Valoree.

She stared back, knowing these men all
saw her as a slender young man- little more than a boy, really. All
of them but Henry. He alone knew that their deceased captain’s
younger brother Valerian, who had served as a cabin boy these last
eight years, was really a girl. Of course he knew; he’d been the
one who had suggested the charade so many years before, when he’d
realized that Jeremy- his captain and her brother- intended to keep
her aboard a ship full of pirates.

Aye, these men all thought her a lad,
young and untried. And yet, they had vowed to follow her. Only a
desire for vengeance could make these two dozen men, cutthroats and
hooligans all, follow someone they had always looked upon as a green
lad, a little brother or son to be coddled and spoiled. And vengeance
they would have.

Glancing down into the water, Valoree
took in her reflection. Her body was slim- she was lean rather than
muscular- and it trembled with anticipation. For a moment she
imagined that her eyes were no longer those of the youth who had
moved easily among these men, laughing and chatting as she’d gone
about her chores. Nay, her eyes now seemed old, hard, bitter with
fresh loss. A loss these men shared as well.

Her brother had been a good man and a
fair captain, and his ship, the Valor, had been the only home most of
his crew had known for the last eight years. The men who now
accompanied her were the last of that crew. She glanced around at
them, then back at her reflection.

Though her shirt was her own, she now
wore her brother’s breeches, along with his hat and jacket.
Jeremy’s boarding ax and pike were hooked through the thick belt at
her waist, and a brass-barreled flintlock was sticking out of those
baggy, too-large pants. The captain’s cutlass rested in its sheath
where it hung at her side. She had taken his clothing when she had
sworn vengeance for his death- and she had not bathed since.

Every inch of her body, every item,
every inch of cloth, wood, and metal was covered with its owner’s
dried blood, as were Valoree’s face, hands, and feet. Even her long
hair was crusty with the stuff. Though it was normally a vibrant,
fiery red- as her brother’s had been- it was now streaked through
with crimson, marked by the red blood of her brother’s death- a
reminder of her vow.

Her brother had
not died easily. He had not died quickly. He, along with the majority
of his men, had died slowly and in torment. And for that, Valoree and
the remainder of Jeremy’s crew had vowed, these Spaniards would
pay.

She glanced toward Skully and nodded.
The cadaverous man immediately reached for his tools, and Valoree
turned her back as he began to bore holes in the bottom of their
craft. She regarded her crew, awaiting their reaction. She did not
have long to wait. Skully was still working on the second hole when
the last of them turned to her in understanding. In their faces she
read approval and a grudging respect. To reassure them of her intent,
she half hissed, half whispered, “We take this ship or we die.
There is no escape. We fight not only to avenge the deaths of good
men, but for our lives.”

“For our lives and vengeance,”
Henry vowed beside her in a hushed tone. His words were immediately
taken up by the others.

“Life and vengeance!”

She relaxed somewhat at their
acceptance, an odd calm overtaking her as she silently watched Skully
finish boring the holes in the bottom of their boat. The holes were
relatively small, but even so, by the time he had started on the
sixth, the boat was already gathering water and beginning to sink.

As Skully hurriedly returned his tools
to his satchel, Valoree drew her brother’s cutlass from its sheath.
Moving to the side of their slowly sinking ship, she led the men in a
stealthy climb up the side of the Spanish galleon. Her bare hands and
feet moved surely up the rope until she reached the top, the others
close behind. Pausing there, Valoree peered over the side and glared
about.

Several men, taking advantage of the
night breeze, were sleeping out in the open air of the deck. Valoree
glanced toward the helm and smiled grimly upon seeing the helmsman.
The man, while still at his post, had nodded off and was now dozing
away his shift, sense less. There was no one to give an alarm. The
Spaniards would be taken completely by surprise.

Slipping silently over the side,
Valoree hunkered low, sticking to the shadows. Her men followed. As
the last of them slid to the deck, she gestured silently, dividing
them into two groups with one simple wave of her hand, then gesturing
for one group to stay above deck, while directing the others toward
the dark hole that was the entrance to the cabins. They all began to
move at once, separating and moving all over the ship. The men above
deck positioned themselves among the sleeping Spaniards, ready to set
to work, but waiting the few moments necessary to allow those men
slip ping through the hole to reach their targets, lest some sound or
death cry warn their enemies below.

Leaving the rest of the crew to the
others, Valoree moved stealthily toward the helmsman. She had nearly
reached him when something startled the man awake.

Drawing a sword, the Spaniard peered
blearily at her. She froze, but his gaze found her anyway. Taking in
Jeremy’s bloody clothes and her red hair flowing about her
blood-streaked face, he blinked.

“Rojo... El Capitan Rojo?”

Valoree stiffened at the words,
recognizing the name the Spanish used for her brother. Captain Red,
because of his red hair.

His cry awoke others nearby, and the
sleepy-eyed men turned to gape at her in horror. The helmsman’s cry
was taken up again and again. “Regresa del muerto. El Rojo!”

For a moment, everyone was still. The
others she’d brought with her, startled by the shouting, turned to
peer at Valoree. She drew back, annoyed, then peered about at the
frozen tableau. Her crewmates seemed as transfixed as the Spaniards.
With a glance at the near est of the men, she snapped irritably,
“What the devil is he saying, Henry?”

Drawn out of his startled state by the
question, the quartermaster relaxed and grimly smiled. Then he
shrugged. “He’s thinkin’ ye’re yer own brother, Captain Red.
He’s thinkin’ ye’re back from the dead. He’s screamin’
“Back-from-the-Dead Red,”” he explained. The cry continued
around them.

“Regresa del muerto. El Rojo!”

“Back-from-the-Dead Red?” Valoree
repeated, then frowned at the terrified Spaniards. “Well, at least
they shall know why they die”. Raising Jeremy’s cutlass, she
advanced on the helmsman, but much to her consternation, the man
immediately dropped his weapon. For a moment, Valoree was nonplussed,
but the sudden chorus of metal against wood drew her attention to the
fact that every Spaniard aboard the ship was now giving up his weapon
unasked, all dropping them to the deck floor.

“What the devil are they doing?”
Valoree cried in dismay. “Are they not going to fight?”

Henry glanced around, then turned to
face her. “Well,” he drawled, scratching at his ear. “I’m
thinkin’ they’re thinkin’ that since ye’re a ghost and all,
there ain’t no sense in afightin’ ye. Most like they think we’re
the rest of the men that were kilt... and ye cain’t kill someone
what’s already dead.”

“El Rojo.”

Valoree glanced up at hearing again the
helmsman’s terrified murmur. The Spaniard was now tugging his
pistol free and dropping it on the deck beside his sword. Throughout,
he continued mumbling, “Regresa del muerto. El Rojo.”

Before she could decide on a course of
action, a scuffle at the entrance to the cabins drew her attention.
Valoree glanced over as the men who had gone below returned, pushing
several captives ahead of them. The first was obviously the captain,
and he looked angry. He also looked willing to fight, Valoree saw
with relief. At least someone would. It was hard to take revenge when
the enemy refused to fight. She wouldn’t simply kill unarmed men;
that was not fair. She was just about to move to confront the Spanish
captain when the helmsman spotted his commander. He immediately
shrieked, “El Rojo! Regresa del muerto!”

The captain started to glance toward
the man, but his gaze caught and stayed on Valoree. The whipping wind
filled the cloth of Jeremy’s jacket, making her appear larger than
she was, and she had to fight to keep her bloody red hair from
covering her eyes. She pulled Jeremy’s hat down further onto her
head and glared at the Spaniard with hatred. The man gaped, then
murmured, “El Rojo?”

“S’aai,” the helmsman cried. “El
Rojo, regresa del muerto.”

“Shut up!” Valoree said in a growl
to the mouthy sailor. She was sick of hearing those words. Stark
terror entered the captain’s face as well. “Tell him to shut up,
Henry,” she said hurriedly.

Henry translated the order into
Spanish, but the panicked helmsman could not have obeyed had he
wished to. He seemed able only to repeat himself over and over.
Irritated, Valoree drew Jeremy’s flintlock pistol and shot him.

The man dropped to the deck with a
shriek, grabbing for the wound in his leg.

As if that were the signal for some
preplanned form of action, the Spaniards all made a sudden exodus to
ward the sides of the ship. Taken by surprise, Valoree and the others
could only watch in amazement as the crew of the galleon, as one,
cast themselves screaming into shark-infested water.

Cursing under her breath, Valoree
stalked to the side of the ship and peered down at the men in the sea
below. They were thrashing about in the water, moving in the general
direction of the nearest island. “The gunny cowards,” she
muttered.

“Aye,” Henry agreed. He and the
rest of the men had moved closer to peer down at their fleeing
adversaries.

Slamming a palm down on the rail in
frustration, Valoree cursed. “Jumping rather than fighting, can you
imagine?”

Henry shook his head. “Spineless
Spanish bastards.”

Sighing, she frowned at the water
below. A moment later, One-Eye let out a dismayed oath. Glancing up,
Valoree peered over at where he was pointing. The helmsman was on his
feet, and had hopped to the side of the ship. He was now balancing
himself precariously on the railing. As she watched in amazement, the
man hefted himself over the side of the boat to land with a splash in
the water behind his comrades. It seemed that swimming with sharks
was more attractive than keeping company with ghosts, even for the
wounded man.

“Ye want we should shoot them?”
One-Eye asked with little enthusiasm.

Valoree shook her head in disgust.
“Leave go. They are not likely to make it to shore. ‘Sides, none
of them bore the scar.” She desired revenge, but there was no
pleasure in killing cowards.

The others nodded in agreement.
Besides, this was apparently not the ship of their true enemy. One of
the few things they had learned from Jeremy, ere he took his last
breath, was that the Spaniard who had ordered the torturous deaths of
her brother and so many of his men bore a scar in the shape of a
question mark on his neck. And the captain of this vessel had borne
no such scar.

Sighing, Valoree straightened and
turned to survey the Spanish galleon. “Well,” she said softly,
“it would seem we have a ship.”

“Aye,” Henry murmured. “That it
would.”

“Have we enough men to sail it?”

Henry surveyed the small number of
their remaining crew. “Aye,” he said. “Enough to get to port
and pick up more men... Captain.”

Valoree glanced at him sharply.
“Captain?”

He nodded solemnly. “Aye. Of this,
the Valor II. I’m thinkin’ we’ve got us a fine captain. Ye’ve
the spirit, the courage, the determination... and, better yet, ye’ve
already got yerself a reputation and title.” When she looked
bewildered, he shrugged. “Ye’ve already taken yer first ship. If
any of those men out there survive their swim, all will hear about
their terrifying encounter with Back-from-the-Dead Red.”

Valoree rolled her eyes and glanced at
the others. All of them were standing about, nodding in agree ment.
It seemed she had not only stepped into her brother’s clothes, but
she had also stepped into his command. Back-from-the-Dead Red,
indeed. Thanks to a load of superstitious Spaniards, she was now the
captain of some of the most bloodthirsty cutthroats it had ever been
her misfortune to meet- if she wanted them. She was only nineteen.
That was young to be a captain. But then, Jeremy had been only
eighteen when she had helped him purchase and outfit the Valor. And
as for her gender, they already thought her a boy.

Seeing her hesitation, Henry moved
closer. “Now, think on it for a minute before ye go making up your
mind. Cap’n Red - yer brother Jeremy - he did this only to make
some money; then he planned to go claim your family estate, set it to
rights, settle down, and start a family.”

“Aye, but – “

“But nothing. Now that dream is
yours.”

Valoree blinked at that. “What mean
you, now that dream is mine?” she asked suspiciously.

“I mean, with him gone, ye have to
make his dream come true for him. Claim the inheritance, settle down,
start a family.”

Valoree was silent for a moment, then
frowned. “But I do not have the money to – “

“Well, that there is true enough.
That was what Jeremy was doin, earnin’ the money to claim the
estate. It’s not been lived in since ye was a wee babe. He said he
needed a fair sum to put the place to rights.”

“And he had earned it,” One-Eye put
in bitterly. “More than enough to claim the land and set it to
rights. We were all to have homes there,” he reminded her. “He
promised all of us a cottage and a little plot of land. He – “

“Aye, I know.” Valoree sighed. “But
the Spaniards took the riches when they killed Jeremy.”

Henry nodded. “Aye. And that means we
would have to start over.”

“Start over!” Valoree glared at
him. “Eight years it took my brother to acquire that money. Do not
tell me you now want to waste another eight years.”

The man hesitated at that, then cleared
his throat. “Well, now, I been thinkin’ on that, too. It occurs
to me that out there somewhere is a Spanish galleon with yer
brother’s treasure on it- or someone who knows where it is. If we
could just manage to find that...”